


The Things That We've Done

by stepantrofimovic



Series: Black and Blue [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Light Angst, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, it's not a trevilieu fic without at least light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9110383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepantrofimovic/pseuds/stepantrofimovic
Summary: The phone starts ringing at the exact moment when Captain Treville, of the Préfecture de police de Paris, crosses the threshold to his apartment. It hasn’t stopped by the time it takes him to hang his coat, take off his gloves and hat, and slowly walk across the living room to pick up the receiver.“No,” he says, flatly, as he places the handset against his ear.[aka, the Trevilieu noir AU.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> This started with a prompt by bean-about-townn on Tumblr: "(obviously) treville/richelieu modern au; super criminal richelieu broke up with police detective treville for his own safety and is now trying to win him back. (treville, it must be said, did not know richelieu was a criminal when they were together. he's not happy. not happy at all)." Also vaguely inspired by [this amazing edit](http://princedakkars.tumblr.com/post/115509813502/im-familiar-with-the-r-o-l-e-s-we-play).
> 
> Since a sequel to this is happening, I've decided to post it separately and not in [my filled prompts collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7485759/chapters/17013255).

The phone starts ringing at the exact moment when Captain Treville, of the Préfecture de police de Paris, crosses the threshold to his apartment. It hasn’t stopped by the time it takes him to hang his coat, take off his gloves and hat, and slowly walk across the living room to pick up the receiver.

“No,” he says, flatly, as he places the handset against his ear.

The voice at the other end is familiar and dryly amused. “My, my, Captain. Is this the way to greet an old friend?”

Treville grits his teeth, then he finds himself wondering whether the man on the other side can hear that. “We have never been friends.”

That is true, strictly speaking. They had progressed straight from acquaintances to lovers, rushing through the steps with a haste that Treville had been all too quick to ascribe to passion. The real reason, of course, became clear when it came to light that the man who Treville knew as Armand du Plessis was better known to the general public as Richelieu, the Red Duke, the mastermind behind most of France’s organized crime, and a good share of the rest of Europe’s.

No, Treville thinks to himself. They were never friends.

“I like to flatter myself by thinking otherwise.”

The answer is on the tip of Treville’s tongue. ( _Then why did you disappear?_ ) He swallows it down. “What do you want?” he asks, instead.

He doesn’t fool himself by thinking that the hesitation in Richelieu’s response is anything but calculated. “Nothing for myself, as it were. But I have something I think you might want.”

“What.” Richelieu is trying to draw the conversation out, Treville realizes, only offering him one small bit of information at a time. Which means that he knows that the call isn’t monitored, that Treville has yet to tell anyone at the Préfecture about his recent attempts at making contact. He feels faintly sick at the thought.

“Labarge,” Richelieu answers, and for a moment Treville forgets everything about his unease. 36 quai des Orfèvres has been on Labarge’s trail for months – so far, they have been able to pin almost forty hits on him alone, all in the past four or five years. All of their leads, however, have either vanished into smoke or proven useless.

“I sense that I have your attention now, Captain.” The smile in Richelieu’s voice is enough to bring Treville back to himself. His hands are shaking, he notices. He has to remind himself that Richelieu cannot see him.

Or can he? He remembers the way the phone rang exactly as he opened the door and not one second earlier, and feels a sudden chill run down his spine. He takes a deep breath. _Labarge. Focus on what’s important. Don’t let him play his game._

“I’m listening,” he says – and he does. To his credit, Richelieu is brief and straight to the point once he gets to the actual information he needs to relay. When he’s finished, Treville almost slips and thanks him. Almost.

Instead, he hangs up without a greeting and rushes to put his coat back on. Time to get the rest of the team on board.

***

“Du Vallon, La Fère, d’Herblay, d’Artagnan – in my office, now.”

It probably goes to Treville’s credit that his men immediately jump to attention as he slams open the door of their room at the DRPJ.

“What is it, Captain?” d’Artagnan, always as eager as he was on his first day at the Brigade Criminelle, asks before they’ve all even properly sat down in Treville’s office.

“I have a lead on Labarge,” he announces, ignoring the urge to fidget in his seat as he says it.

He can see Aramis and Porthos look at each other, even though they’re trying to be subtle. He knows what they’re thinking – they’ve been sent on too many wild-goose chases already, the four of them. It’s not as if Treville expected them to be enthusiastic.

As usual, it’s Athos who gives voice to the whole group’s doubts. “What sort of lead, Captain?”

“A solid one.” He knows that the Antigang will have his head if his contacts with Richelieu ever come to light. This is more than reason enough not to tell his subordinates about the whole thing, really. “One of my contacts called me.”

“Spill,” Porthos says, always ready to take his Captain on his word.

“He has gotten a new contract. He’s likely to strike tonight.”

Two hours later, the plan is set into motion. As they leave towards the 16e, Treville finds himself unconsciously gripping his phone in his coat pocket, and praying that, for once, everything goes well.

***

Everything does not go well. A gun fight in the middle of the Pont de Bir-Hakeim cannot be synonymous with things going smoothly. As he rushes through the bridge, chasing after Labarge, Treville hopes that at least some of his men are following, and that this doesn’t end up being all for nothing again.

Labarge is wounded, he realizes as soon as he catches up with him. Wounded and desperate, judging from his expression as he turns around and rams his shoulder against Treville’s chest with all of his strength. For a moment, the Captain is confused as to what the man was hoping to accomplish. One second later, he’s tumbling over the parapet and into the Seine.

***

“Please, tell me that we at least managed to catch him.”

The look that Treville’s men exchange with each other is eloquent enough. As if waking up in a hospital bed didn’t suck already.

He sighs. “Come on, tell me. Did he escape?”

“He did,” Athos starts, but there’s a hesitation to his voice that Treville wasn’t expecting.

“And?” he presses on, suddenly worried.

This time it’s Aramis’ turn to speak up. “We – sort of found him again. This morning.”

“ _And?_ ”

“… How much do you think you can stomach right now?” d’Artagnan asks, dropping a folder on Treville’s bed. “Because I wouldn’t want you to look at that if you think you may be sick.”

He picks the folder up. Inside are the forensic photographs of Labarge’s body. The sight makes Treville feel very glad that he’s already sitting down. Well, lying down. Semantics.

“Do we know who did it?” He bites the inside of his cheek, as if to keep himself from voicing his thoughts. Of course they do. He recognizes the style.

“The MO matches a number of executions ordered by the Red Duke.”

Treville breathes out, slow and controlled. “Well. Guess Labarge’s game finally got out of his hands.”

He doesn’t miss the renewed look that goes around his men. “Any other victims?” he presses on.

As he sets out to listen to Athos’ detailed account (no civilian casualties, thank God), Treville resolutely keeps his mind from wandering towards memories of Richelieu.

***

“You have a visitor,” the nurse says, and Treville thinks, _odd, the boys have already been here this morning_.

His next thought is a lot less politely worded.

“I hope you’ll forgive my little surprise, Captain,” a familiar voice says.

Treville closes his eyes and silently wills Arm– Richelieu to disappear. Then he opens them again, because he needs to check if the nurse is still there. God forbid that she overhears what they’ll have to say to each other. He’s already in enough trouble as is.

He does his best to ignore the underlying assumption that they do have something to say to each other.

The nurse is gone. “I’m not talking to you,” he says, turning his head away. It sounds petulant. He hates it.

“Evidence says otherwise.” He can hear Richelieu’s long coat rustle as he sits down in the visitor’s chair. He is struck by a sudden regret that he didn’t choose to sit closer. He imagines feeling the bed dip under his weight, as it did so many times as they –

He shudders. Richelieu’s voice cuts into his thoughts, unwelcome as ever.

“I am here to apologize.”

Treville lets out a bitter laugh. “For what? Having my suspect killed?”

“Putting you in danger.”

“I’m a cop, Armand.” He doesn’t realize that he slipped until the name is out of his mouth. He hears Richelieu shift in his seat, and his voice falters for a moment. “My _job_ puts me in danger.”

“So does mine. That does not make it more bearable.”

 “You don’t have a job. You have a – an empire of evil, I don’t even know,” he snaps. “Why are we having this conversation now?” _Why not months ago, before you left?_

“Because you are hurt. And that is unacceptable.”

It’s the tension in Richelieu’s voice that finally forces Treville to turn around and look at him. He looks exactly as he remembered him. He has unbuttoned his coat and set his scarf and hat on the table, but he hasn’t undressed beyond that. (Treville distinctly remembers the sound of his coat sliding to the floor in his apartment, the way the fabric of his shirt felt as it bunched under his hands. He bites back a whimper.) He looks tense, uneasy, almost, as if he didn’t know how long he will be allowed to stay.

_Stay. However long you want._

“I’ve been hurt other times,” he says, instead.

“Not because of me.”

The look Treville sends him makes his thoughts plain. He imagines that he can see Richelieu pale a little, but that might be wishful thinking.

They sit in silence for a minute or so. “I can’t stay here much longer.”

“I know. I’m waiting for you to leave.”

Richelieu blinks once at that, then he rises to his feet in one fluid movement. “As you wish.”

Treville grimaces. Figures, that Richelieu would find a way to pin that on him as well. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he leaves, before –

Caught up in his thoughts, he misses the sound of Richelieu approaching the bed. The first brush of fingers on his hand sends a jolt of genuine terror through him.

Richelieu has both his hands around Treville’s right one, which he then raises towards his face. It’s an awkward position, but somehow he makes it look natural. A gesture out of time. He brushes his lips lightly over Treville’s knuckles.

“I am familiar with the roles we play, Captain. All I ask is of you is that you allow me to play mine.”

 _I’m not playing_ , he wants to say. _This is not a game._ Except that it is, and he accepted the rules when he picked up his phone and listened to Richelieu’s voice for the first time.

He closes his eyes, unwilling to look at the face in front of him any longer. When he opens them again, he is alone in the hospital room.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, you're welcome to [join me on Tumblr](http://stepantrofimovic.tumblr.com/) and/or prompt me while you're there. (Obviously) Trevilieu is always appreciated.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanart] Trevilieu Noir - AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9484151) by [froggy_freek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggy_freek/pseuds/froggy_freek)




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